Strangeness and Charm
by ladycobert
Summary: Robert meets the foreign, yet charming, Miss Levinson.
1. You make me forget myself

A/N: This started out as a drabble/ficlet. Oops. Robert took over. This is completely from his perspective. The original prompt, from imagineyourotp on tumblr was "imagine your otp holding hands for the first time, and the moment their hands meet, butterflies fill both their stomachs and they smile bashfully at each other." Amazing what happens when your imagination gets completely ignited, eh?

* * *

Summer, 1888

Robert claimed all the waltzes on her dance card.

He had noticed her a few weeks before, her warm smile and blue eyes striking him first. Then her laughter met his ears once he'd got up the nerve to approach the circle of suitors surrounding her. He didn't ask her to dance, and he didn't join the suitors. But, standing just outside of the circle, he did find out her name – Cora Levinson – and that she was an American. The bits of conversation he could hear fascinated him; her voice was sweet and soft and her accent foreign, and she didn't say all the vapid things with which young English ladies always bored him.

Unaccountably, as he usually hated such things and went only because his parents made him, Robert found himself looking forward to the next ball.

Before this next ball, he'd casually asked his new friend Lord Henry about her. Lord Henry told him Miss Levinson was an heiress, and that her parents had houses in New York City and Newport, Rhode Island. Robert wondered why Mama and Papa hadn't already pushed him in her direction – except, really, he knew why. It was because she was American.

At the ball, Robert again kept his distance from her. He shared a few dances with ladies of his acquaintance, friends of his sister Rosamund, the young women his parents steered him toward. None of them really turned his head. None of them ever did, but this time he was distracted for a different reason.

His eyes continued to seek out the young American lady. He was drawn to her in a way he couldn't account for. Yes, she was elegant and well-mannered, but so were most of the English ladies in the room. There was something else to her. It wasn't that she was American; if he was honest, that was a factor against her. For Robert, it was _despite_ her Americanness that Miss Levinson enchanted him.

Several times throughout the evening Robert became aware that he was staring at her and had to pull his eyes away. However, he began to glean bits of information this way, just by watching her. She had a carefree air about her; she laughed easily, chatted animatedly, and greeted new acquaintances affably. But he noticed that she was also nervous. The few times she wasn't surrounded by admirers or dancing or clinging to the arm of a friend, he could see that she took deep breaths and closed her eyes, her hand trembling as she held a glass or crossed a name off her dance card. Despite her self-confidence – which was also evident – he would guess that she was also a trifle unsure about it all.

It made him want to reassure her.

Every time a partner would lead Miss Levinson onto the dance floor, she danced with grace and poise, moving through the steps with ease, as if she'd been born dancing. But the waltz seemed to hold a special place with her. It didn't matter the partner. Her eyes shone and her smile never faltered, and at times she would simply tilt her head back and laugh. She danced like her feet had wings and that nothing else existed in the world except her, her partner, and the music that carried them around the dance floor.

It made him want to dance with her.

Miss Levinson smiled at everyone. And it was clear to Robert that anyone who actually took the time to speak to her found her charming, for they kept coming back to her – like moths to the flame. He didn't blame them. The more he glanced her way, the more radiant she appeared to him. And then… then, toward the end of the evening, she looked at him. She was with a group of people, and Lady Margaret – a young lady with whom Robert was acquainted and knew his friend Lord Henry had fallen quite hard for – had their attention. Lady Margaret was probably telling a story, as she loved to do. Miss Levinson had her head bowed in laughter, and when she raised it again, her eyes fell upon Robert. Instead of moving her eyes away, back to Lady Margaret, she let them linger upon his face. Before he realized it, he was smiling at her. Her own smile widened. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, nor could he stop grinning like a fool. Finally, she blushed and lowered her own eyes. Blinking a few times, she met his gaze once more, her blush deepening and spreading down to touch her collar bone. She didn't look away until someone addressed her directly. Even then she seemed reluctant to turn her head.

Robert knew she smiled at everyone. But what made his breath catch in his throat and his forehead bead with perspiration was knowing through careful observation that it was the first time that evening anyone had made her blush.

It made him want to smile at her and see her blush again.

On the way back to their London house, in the carriage, Robert went over the evening in his head. At first it made him smile, but then he recalled a certain "moth" persistently buzzing around Miss Levinson all night. He'd been a handsome young man and quite attentive to her. However, her acceptance of his attentions seemed forced, now that he thought about it, as if she wished he'd leave her alone, but that she was too polite to say so. Robert could feel heat rise in his face, indignant on her behalf.

It made him want to protect her.

And, although the very thought astonished him, being that he'd never even spoken to the lady, it also made him jealous. Because, since she obviously didn't push the young man away, he'd been the one to bring her champagne, his arm had encircled her waist during a waltz, and his lips had touched her gloved hand at the end of the evening.

It made him want to punch the fellow.

A few days later, Robert ran into Lord Henry in Hyde Park. His friend grinned from ear to ear as he told Robert that he'd decided to ask Lady Margaret to marry him. Clasping his hand warmly, he smiled, happy for his friend. But at the same time, he wondered if he would be so excited to ask someone to marry him. He suspected he wouldn't.

His mind strayed to Miss Levinson, and Robert asked Lord Henry whether she would be at a particular ball at the end of the week. Being assured that she would, Robert smiled again.

Robert didn't anticipate how his heart would pound when, as soon as he walked in the door and spotted her in a corner with only Lady Margaret, he drew near Miss Levinson to speak to her for the first time. He didn't anticipate that her eyes would raise to meet his before he got there, that just her smile would nearly stop him in his tracks. And he didn't anticipate Lady Margaret not seeing his approach and fading away within his last few steps, leaving him without anyone to perform a proper introduction between them.

Miss Levinson smiled at him sweetly. He'd already been nervous – something new to him, as he'd never had trouble speaking to women before. But her…. Her smile undid him. He became tongue-tied, and his voice stuck in his throat.

She looked at him in some concern, a furrow forming across her brow. "Are you quite alright?"

Robert took a deep breath and tried again, flushing in embarrassment, but determined all the same. "I – I wondered if you would dance with me tonight." He closed his eyes briefly, knowing he'd already committed a faux pas in not introducing himself.

But instead of brushing him aside as the bumbling imbecile he felt himself to be, she blushed and her smile widened. She couldn't have known how that would disarm him. "I would be delighted." She plucked at the ribbon around her wrist, to which her dance card was attached. "Which dance would you like? You're the first to ask, so my dance card is empty." She picked up the pencil that also hung from the ribbon and held it poised over the card.

"The waltz, if you please," he said clearly.

"I'd hoped you would ask for that one," she told him, without a trace of bashfulness or irony. "The first waltz, then."

Robert wondered how she could be so bold as to tell him that. He hadn't expected her informality to charm him, and he blurted out, "All of them." At her astonished expression he felt himself get warm, and he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd slapped him right then and there for his audacity. But she didn't. She simply blinked at him. "That is, if you are willing," he amended, adding, "Please."

Miss Levinson blushed an appealing crimson, and she lowered her lashes with a smile– as she had when they'd exchanged looks at the previous ball. He couldn't help smiling at this reaction.

"I am willing," she said quietly, raising her eyes to his again, still smiling.

He saw now that her eyes were the most intense shade of blue he'd ever encountered, and they shone now with a light that he couldn't help thinking had been reserved just for him. It was silly, he knew, ridiculous. And yet – it enchanted him to believe that it was so.

Recognizing that he was staring at her again, he cleared his throat delicately and, feeling somewhat awkward standing there, he made her a little bow, knowing he was the one blushing at this point. He turned on his heel and left her there, catching her bewildered expression out of the corner of his eye.

Once he'd crossed the room that was nearly full of guests now and downed a glass of champagne, he twisted his head enough to catch a glimpse of Miss Levinson. She stood in the same spot, gaping at her dance card in confusion. And that's when he realized she'd gotten him so discombobulated that he'd never introduced himself. She had no name to put down.

Robert hastened to the men's dressing room and sat there among the coats and hats, his head in his hands. The only young lady to whom he'd been even remotely attracted, and he'd gone and bungled it already. He indulged in one more deep sigh, then got up. If word got back to his mother that he'd spent all evening in the dressing room, he'd never hear the end of it.

The third dance of the evening was also the first waltz. Robert found Miss Levinson standing at a table alone, having just come off the dance floor, fanning herself and taking dainty sips of champagne. When she saw him walking toward her, her entire face lit up. Robert took a deep breath to steel himself, in an attempt to ward off another awkward scene.

Putting down the champagne flute, she turned to face him more fully. She wore a gown of deep plum satin, which set off her alabaster skin flawlessly and complemented the flush in her cheeks. A tiara sat upon her elaborate coiffure, nothing ostentatious, just a simple half circle of small diamonds and slightly larger amethysts that matched her necklace and earrings – neither of these overly grand either – winking out from her brown tresses. In Robert's opinion, these relatively modest jewels suited her; she needed no flashy adornments to complete her beauty.

Once he was in front of her again, she extended a gloved hand to him. He had no idea how he kept his composure as he took her hand in his for the first time and bowed over it, kissing the back of it gently. Touching her hand gave him butterflies.

When he released her hand, she resumed fanning herself, smiling. This gently ruffled a wayward ringlet that had come loose from her coiffure and rested most engagingly against her neck. Robert had meant to say something intelligent – or at least halfway intelligible – but his eyes strayed to the ringlet of hair and the curve of her throat, and he forgot what he'd meant to say.

A soft chuckle came from Miss Levinson. "After you left earlier, I thought perhaps you wouldn't return to claim your waltzes. I'm gratified that you did."

Robert lifted his eyes to her face and smiled at her. "So am I."

At that moment, the musicians announced the next dance with a few bars of the waltz they meant to play. Robert extended his arm to Miss Levinson, the butterflies in his stomach stirring when she took it. He wondered how on earth he would be able to lead her through the dance without treading on her toes or tripping the pair of them up.

But he managed to get them both through it. What was more: she appeared to enjoy it at least as much with him as she had with her other partners.

When the dance was over, he guided her back to her table and provided her with a new glass of champagne before going to collect on a dance with a friend of Rosamund's. But as he led Rosamund's friend through the steps, he couldn't help thinking of how much he'd relished having his hand upon the small of Miss Levinson's back, her hand in his, and watching the unrestrained joy on her face. With his mind thus distracted, it was with surprise that he heard Rosamund's friend yelp in pain. He'd stepped on her foot.

Apologizing profusely, he helped her to a chair and asked what else he could do. After he fetched her a glass of water, she summarily dismissed him with a scowl. He was certain he'd get an earful from Rosamund later, but he didn't mind being sent away. It gave him a chance to surreptitiously observe Miss Levinson.

He couldn't stop smiling.

By the time the next waltz came around, Robert hoped he'd gathered up enough of his wits to stay calm around his dance partner. Despite the butterflies that wouldn't seem to disappear whenever she touched him, he thought he performed much better this time.

To Robert's delight, the musicians had their break after this waltz. As he led her off the dance floor, he noticed how Miss Levinson's hair curled into tight rings around her forehead and her flushed face glistened, and he saw a perfect opportunity.

An opportunity he took.

With a polite cough, he turned to the young woman on his arm and bent his head nearer hers to speak to her, the volume of chatter in the room making this expedient. "It's very close in here, and I thought I might try to find some fresh air in the garden. Would you care to join me?"

His request was met with another smile and a nod. Robert steered her out of the house and into the garden. Lanterns lit the paths, and other couples could be seen strolling around in the dim light, enjoying the cool night air.

Robert heard Miss Levinson inhale deeply. "My, that's certainly much better," she said. And suddenly, Robert wanted to hear her speak, just to hear the musical tones of her voice and her quaint accent.

"May I apologize for my earlier behavior?" he asked.

"Your earlier behavior?" She sounded confused.

They ambled along the path together, Robert's butterflies stilling somewhat as he got more used to the feel of her arm and hand. "Yes, my rudeness."

She shook her head. "I don't remember your being rude. You've been very polite to me. Nearly everyone has."

His brows drew together at the word "nearly," but he didn't want to pry. He changed the subject. "How long have you been in England? You're American, are you not?"

She nodded. "Yes, I grew up mainly in New York and Newport. That's in Rhode Island. We've been here – Mother and I – in London, for a little over a month."

"And – and how long will you stay?" Robert wasn't sure why the answer to this question seemed to matter to him as much as it seemed to.

Miss Levinson took a deep breath before saying, "It depends upon what happens over the Season. I'm an heiress, you see, and my mother wants me to marry someone with a title. If I did, I suppose I would be staying here indefinitely."

The tremble in her voice gave Robert pause. "But you don't want that." It slipped out before he could think about how impertinent it was of him to say it. "Forgive me," he said. "I forgot myself."

Halting on the path, Miss Levinson looked at him in something akin to amusement. "You're not the sort to forget himself, are you?" She gave him a smile, her eyes alight in the glow cast by the nearest lantern. "Don't answer that. And don't apologize, please. Because it's only true, you know." She nudged him into strolling along with her again. "Well, not completely true. If I found someone for whom I could see myself giving up the entire world I know, then I would stay in a heartbeat. But I won't do it just to make my mother happy. I'd rather go back home, to my friends." She sighed a bit. "I don't have any friends here," she stated with another shake of her head.

"But," he objected, "you're always surrounded by people – laughing, talking. And what about Lady Margaret?" He was barely aware of squeezing her arm against him in sympathy at the sadness in her voice.

"Lady Margaret is a dear, and she's been very good to me, introducing me to people and making sure I'm comfortable, but she's not a friend. At least, not the kind I had at home. We don't share confidences, we don't go for walks in the park, we don't visit the shops, and I don't go to her house for tea." She let out another sigh, and Robert got the impression that she didn't know she was doing it. "As for the others – I'm sure you know just as well as anyone that I'm somewhat of a novelty. They want to hear me speak; they want to see how unrefined Americans really are and –"

"You're not unrefined!" he interrupted, nonplussed.

She chuckled at him. "Am I not? Aren't all Americans unrefined?"

Robert found himself chuckling with her. "I don't know about other Americans, but I haven't seen or heard anything lacking in you yet. Although I do find your frankness a bit unnerving. I'm not used to that."

She grew serious once again. "No, I'm understanding more and more that I rub people the wrong way here. I have run ins with English reserve time and again, and when people aren't simply offended, I'm cognizant they're laughing up their sleeves at me. They think I don't know, but I do. And they think I'm not hurt by it, but I am."

Stopping, Robert turned to her. "You haven't rubbed me the wrong way."

She smiled at him tentatively. "I haven't? Well, give it time. I'm sure I will."

"No, I can't imagine that."

Miss Levinson blushed. "I don't see how you can be so certain. You've already said you find my blunt manners unnerving. You know, at home I'm considered more reticent than most people. I don't go around telling complete strangers my secrets." She lowered her eyelashes and blushed harder. "Of course, I'm not sure you'll believe me after I've told you all of that." She lifted her eyes to his face. "I don't even know your name. I truly hope I haven't offended you too."

The expectancy in her voice gave her words sincerity, and he hastened to reassure her, remembering the trembling hands and nervousness he'd noticed during the last ball – realizing he'd been right in thinking her a trifle unsure. "No, you haven't offended me. In fact, I was worried I would offend you with _my_ candor. I don't normally speak so freely with friends I've had for years, much less with a young lady who doesn't know my name." He was pleased that she appeared relieved and even somewhat amused again. He cocked his head at her. "If you don't know my name, what did you put on your dance card for the waltz?"

Her lips twitched with mirth. "I made up a name for you."

Robert grinned. "You did? What is it?" He began walking with her again, quite forgetting that anything else existed outside of the garden.

"Ah, no, I think I'll keep that to myself. I'd rather hear your real name." She pressed her hand gently against his arm, sending the butterflies into a renewed frenzy.

"It's Lord Downton, actually."

They happened upon a bench just then, and Miss Levinson tugged him over to it, sitting down, and gesturing for him to do the same. Now he could see in the dim light her nose wrinkled and her brows drawn together. "I'm not sure I know what that means, really. Is that your _name_ or your _title_?"

Robert laughed, and then stopped abruptly as her face fell. "I – I didn't mean to laugh. Please, don't look like that." Hardly knowing that he did it, he took her hand and pressed it between his own hands. "I simply found your question amusing because, honestly, I can comprehend how it must sound to someone who hasn't grown up with it as I have." She was looking down now, and he gazed at the top of her head, hoping he hadn't hurt her feelings. "I've never thought of it that way, but it _is_ rather ridiculous in a way. I'm called Lord Downton, just as my father is called Lord Grantham, but they're not our names. It – " He cut himself off, feeling uncomfortable and remorseful for laughing after what she'd disclosed to him. "Please look at me? I'm sorry. I am."

Miss Levinson raised her head and met his gaze. She didn't appear sad, but Robert found her expression difficult to read.

"I'm Robert Crawley." He gave her a small smile in hopes that she would return it.

She did, which put his mind somewhat at ease. "It's a nice name. I'm Cora Levinson."

"I knew your name. Lord Henry, my friend, told me."

A furrow appeared in her forehead. "But, you've never addressed me by my name. If you knew it, why didn't you say so?"

"Because, Miss Levinson, we hadn't been properly introduced," he explained.

She began to giggle, and Robert grinned. "It didn't stop you from requesting to dance every waltz with me," she pointed out.

Robert could feel the heat rising in his face as he gazed at her. "You asked a question earlier, something about my not being the sort to forget myself. And the answer is, no. I'm not the sort to forget myself. But you, Miss Levinson… you make me forget myself."

She lowered her head, and Robert could see now that she was looking at their gloved hands clasped together. When she lifted her head again, her blush had spread to the roots of her hair and over her throat most becomingly. She gave him a tiny smile. "I do hope that's not necessarily a bad thing. If it is, then I'll have to tell you goodnight, because I wouldn't wish anything bad on you. But I would be disappointed if I had to do that, since I like your company very much."

"Even though I laughed at you?"

Miss Levinson shrugged. "I don't believe you meant to. At least, you said you didn't. And in all other ways I've felt more comfortable with you than I have with anyone else since coming to England."

Robert could hardly believe what she was saying. As much as he'd blundered and stumbled through the evening, she was still comfortable? "You have? My behavior – especially at the beginning of the ball – has been almost farcical." His eyes were wide with incredulity.

Fixing him with a serious expression, she pressed his hand briefly as she sighed. "Now, I'm probably going to end up changing your mind about finding me 'not lacking' when I say this. But – your behavior at the beginning of the ball, your behavior all through the night really, put me at ease. To have someone be nervous or uncomfortable around me is a first since I've been here. Everyone has put on their manners, cloaked themselves in politeness and convention and propriety and perfection, to the point where I've felt surrounded by people in masks. The only two who come close to making me feel at ease are Lady Margaret and Lord Henry. Although he really pays me little attention when she is anywhere in the room." She let out a low chuckle here. "As it should be."

Struggling with what she said, Robert remarked, "But there are rules of propriety, society, in America aren't there? Is it really so different?"

She nodded solemnly. "When you are an outsider it is. No one lets their guard down. It's one of the reasons, I'm sure, that my forthrightness ruffles so many feathers. Perhaps they aren't so guarded with one another, but they are with me. Their politeness comes across as coldness. And their exacting manners make me feel foolish and small. But you – you weren't like that. From the moment I saw you smile at me across the room at the last ball, I had a strong impression that you would be genuine with me." She smiled. "I'm happy I was right, even if you hadn't planned our first meeting the way it turned out. Because this is the first evening where I haven't spent the whole time pretending to enjoy myself, all the while wishing I were elsewhere. So I'll hope you will take this as the compliment that it is, and let me say that I found your awkwardness charming."

Robert had let her speak at length, taking in her words, weighing their meaning. He knew he could be as offended as she thought he would be, but as he looked at her shining countenance, he also knew that he was anything but offended. Her honesty and her sweetness enchanted him in a way he hadn't expected. So he smiled back at her and squeezed her hand gently. "I hope you'll continue to find my, er, awkwardness charming, Miss Levinson. Because I feel a bit out of my element around you, to be completely honest."

Crimson stained her cheeks yet again. "I suspect you wouldn't admit that to anyone else, would you?"

He leaned closer to her to whisper, "No. Because it's never happened to me before."

Miss Levinson's flush darkened. However, before she could respond, Robert heard some male person calling out, "Miss Levinson?" and bearing down upon them.

"Oh dear," she said, her visage immediately falling. "I didn't realize how long we'd been out here. That's Sir Alistair coming to claim his dance." Then her face brightened. "But after that is another waltz. You'll come find me again, won't you?" She stood, preparing to go, extricating her hand from between his as he stood with her.

"Of course I will," Robert said, pleased that she looked forward to dancing with him again.

"Miss Levinson?" the man called to her again.

She tarried. "I – I don't know what I am supposed to call you. I confess I'm still having difficulty making sense of all the titles and modes of address."

He grinned. "The appropriate form of address is 'Lord Downton' the first time we speak, then 'my lord' after that."

"It seems very formal, if you ask me. But no one will ask the American, so I suppose 'Lord Downton' it is." She cast a glance behind her, where the man Alistair waited for her at a discreet distance, then sighed.

He bent his head toward her, a fancy taking hold of him. "You might call me 'Robert' – when we're alone, that is," he said softly, close to her cheek, pausing to inhale the scent of her perfume.

"Robert," she whispered, his name sounding foreign to him in her accent, but in an exotic, thrilling way. Then she turned her head and brushed her lips over his cheek before spinning on her heel and gliding toward her next dance partner.

Astounded, Robert touched his face where she'd kissed him, feeling a blush reach to the tips of his ears. He stood that way, staring at her retreating form. After taking the man's arm, he saw her glance over her shoulder at him, a wide smile wreathing her face.

Sitting down again, Robert wondered what name she had made up for him. And he wondered what she looked like with her hair loosened. And he wondered if his mother might not come around to the idea of his courting an American, since she was an heiress. Because he most certainly wanted to court Miss Cora Levinson.

But, before any of that, there were still the waltzes on the rest of her dance card. Robert looked forward to each and every one of them.


	2. I would like to have my chance

"No, Robert. Absolutely not. I forbid it!"

Robert stared down into his teacup while his mother made this declaration. She'd banished Rosamund from the room so that she, Patrick, and Robert could have a discussion about some gossip she had heard earlier that day.

"Mama," he said, looking up. "I do wish you'd think about it before you forbid it."

Violet gesticulated vigorously. "There is nothing to think about. She is an American. You are a Crawley. You will marry an _Englishwoman_."

Patrick held his newspaper in front of him once more. He tended to let his wife handle these things, and he agreed that Robert should marry an English girl.

"I'm sorry to point out to you, Mama, that the pool of candidates from which I have to choose is very limited, being that I have to marry an heiress." Robert kept his voice even. He didn't like to argue with his mother. "And Miss Levinson _is_ an heiress."

"I don't care if she's the princess of Sheba, Robert. It does not change the fact that she isn't English. Imagine the way people would talk." She shivered perceptibly at the thought.

Robert sighed heavily. "It wouldn't be that bad. This kind of thing is becoming more common. The Churchills –"

Violet shook her head vehemently. "No, do not speak to me of the Churchills. That American caused them such scandal!"

Turning a page of his newspaper, Patrick chuckled, commenting from behind it, "I think Lord Randolph had to have at least some role in her delivering their firstborn 'early'."

"Patrick, I am somewhat less than amused. You're not helping." She turned back to Robert. "Is there no one among the young ladies suitable you would court?"

Robert thought of the tedium of every ball and dinner he'd attended until he'd become interested in Miss Levinson. "No, Mama. I find all of them tiresome."

Scowling, Violet set her tea cup into its saucer with a _bang_. "Tiresome or not, you _will_ court one of those young ladies. Dance with Miss Levinson at the balls if you like, but I won't have you courting her."

"Papa, do get her to see reason." Robert appealed to his father.

Patrick lowered his newspaper and fixed his son with a resigned expression. "Robert, your mama is right. You need to have an English wife. Besides, she may be an 'heiress,' but we know nothing about how much she is to inherit. The estate needs a substantial amount. We've discussed this, son."

Feeling himself go red with anger, Robert stood up. "Fine," he said somewhat more forcefully than he'd meant to. "Fine. Excuse me." He left the room without another word, nearly hitting Rosamund in the face with the door as he did.

She opened her mouth to speak.

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Rosamund, I know you were listening at the door, and I know you probably have something to say, but I don't want to hear it right now." He continued past her, not bothering to stop when she asked him to wait. He needed fresh air, and he needed it now.

But walking in Hyde Park didn't prove as soothing as it usually did. He kept running into acquaintances with whom he had no wish to speak, and all he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. His parents' pronouncement against his courting Miss Levinson weighed heavier upon him than he'd imagined it would.

Finally, he found just the sort of quiet place he'd sought, a bench facing the Serpentine. He sat down and gazed across the water. All he could see, however, was Miss Levinson's sweet smile. He could still hear her dulcet tones and the way she pronounced his name. He touched his cheek briefly where she'd kissed him and recalled the scent of her perfume.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to dance with her at the balls anymore, despite what his mother had said. He didn't want to lead her on, and he wouldn't disobey his parents' injunction against courting her. Besides, he recognized that any sort of contact with her would most likely be dangerous.

Passing his hand over his brow, he sighed. He'd spent only a few hours in her presence. It shouldn't be this difficult to give her up – for there really wasn't anything yet to give up. However, as he pondered over his other choices for marriage, all he saw was a grey future confined by duty and work and monotony, and himself saddled with a silly, dull wife. His life as the eldest son of – and later himself being – an earl meant that he would always have duty and work, and quite possibly a good deal of monotony. Robert could accept that. And, before a few weeks ago, he might have been able to accept a dull wife as well. But now that he'd met Miss Levinson….

Somehow he knew, with a strange and incomprehensible certainty, that a life shared with Cora Levinson could never be boring.

Robert closed his eyes and took a deep breath, saying a silent goodbye to what might have been.

* * *

"Robert, you're really being the most abominable curmudgeon. We'll have a lovely time tonight, and I'll help you forget all about that American. Besides, Jane Noorington told me –"

Snapping his head around to his sister, Robert interrupted her. "I don't want to hear about anything your friend Miss Noorington said. She's the most irksome of the lot." The carriage hit a bump, tossing the pair around a bit on the seat. "I hate having to go to these things." He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at Rosamund. "Not a decent conversation to be had, apart from Lord Henry and Lady Margaret, when you're off dancing or promenading through the garden with one of your admirers. I'm convinced that not one of my prospective wives has a whole brain among them – and most of them are _your_ friends. How on earth can you stand being surrounded by such an insipid, banal, mundane group of people? You, with all your wit and brilliance?"

Rosamund shrugged, a reminder to Robert that she was impervious to his blustering. "They amuse me. I can insult them as much as I like, and they're all so dimwitted they don't realize it." She chuckled. "It gets wearisome after a couple of months, but by that time we're generally headed back to Downton. Plus – they always know the best gossip."

"Bunch of vacuous title-hunters," he muttered, looking out the window once more.

"Thus sayeth the fortune-hunter," came her rejoinder.

Robert closed his eyes. "Do you think I want to be a fortune-hunter, Rosamund? I'm forced to be one against my will. I hope you don't take your freedom to choose for granted."

Rosamund was quiet. This being unlike his sister, Robert opened his eyes and moved them to her face. Then she said softly, "I'm not completely free, brother. Mama and Papa have say over my choices too."

"I'm sorry. You're right. It's not easy for either of us. Having the privileges we do can be a heavy burden, can't it?"

She simply nodded, then sighed and patted her hair. The carriage had pulled up in front of the house where that evening's ball was to take place. As a footman opened Rosamund's door, she threw out at Robert, "Try not to be a killjoy tonight."

Robert accompanied her into the house, parting from her at the dressing rooms. She'd not been with him at the last ball, preferring upon that occasion to accept an invitation elsewhere. He hoped he could count on her tonight to take his mind off his disappointment – and what was sure to be Miss Levinson's as well.

Rosamund had made them run later than Robert would have liked, so when they entered the ballroom, almost all the other guests had arrived. Despite himself, Robert swept his eyes over the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Miss Levinson. When he spotted her, his insides gave a lurch. She was already looking his way, smiling, and when he met her eyes, her smile became a wide grin.

But Robert didn't smile. Instead he cast his eyes down and let Rosamund tug him over to a circle of her friends who beckoned them over. He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman and handed one of them to his sister. Taking several large drinks of his own, he frowned and wished he could spend the evening in the dressing room.

His sister took charge, Robert powerless to stop her. She slid the dance card from the breast pocket of his evening jacket and filled in nearly every space with the names of her vacuous friends. Robert sulked while she did this, not really caring any more. Perhaps if he danced it would keep his mind occupied with something other than how lovely Miss Levinson had looked in her crimson satin frock, garnet-encrusted combs holding back her brunette tresses, and how her face had lit up when he glanced at her.

Doing his best to keep his attention focused upon their own group proved difficult. Their inane chatter had reached new heights of absurdity, and the unrelenting Miss Noorington persisted in trying to flirt with him. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin and escape. Instead, he caught himself flicking his eyes toward Miss Levinson. She was with Lord Henry and Lady Margaret, and they appeared excited about something. Then Lady Margaret extended her hand, and Robert realized she must have accepted Lord Henry's marriage proposal and was showing Miss Levinson her engagement ring. Miss Levinson's smile seemed pained.

Robert bent his head, staring at his shoes, not even listening to the conversation going on around him anymore. "Ow!" he barked when Rosamund's elbow came into painful contact with his ribs.

"Madeleine just asked you a question," she hissed.

"Pardon me," he said to the group in general, then asked Miss Winters to repeat her question for him.

A sense of something akin to relief filled Robert when the dancing actually started. He guided Miss Noorington around the floor, the instances of seeing Miss Levinson as her own partner did the same were fleeting. But he noticed she wasn't smiling. And as hard as Miss Noorington worked to get him to do so, he wasn't smiling either. He centered his efforts upon getting through the dance without stumbling, willing himself to think of nothing else.

The fourth dance was a waltz, and Robert felt an unexpected pang when he saw Miss Winters' name on his dance card, wishing it were Miss Levinson's. However, he led this young lady onto the floor. As they circled the ballroom together, Robert noticed the seated figure of Miss Levinson. His eyes fell upon her at every rotation of the dance. She stared at her dance card dejectedly. The man Robert recognized as Sir Alistair hovered near her, but she appeared not to notice or care.

Robert wondered why Miss Levinson would willingly sit out what was obviously her favorite dance.

After several more dances, Robert saw that Rosamund had granted him a reprieve in the form of a space in his dance card. There were very few of these. Once he'd seen Miss Noorington back to their group, he excused himself, needing some air.

Meandering down the garden path, breathing in the cool air, he wandered around, not minding where he ended up. This garden's hedges grew much higher than the house where the previous ball had been held. Distracted, and with much of the garden not easily visible from any one point in the path, Robert started when he comprehended that he was approaching Miss Levinson, who sat alone upon one of the garden benches. He was too close to her to retreat now, so he went up to her instead, hoping he could make a hasty departure.

"Good evening, Miss Levinson," he said politely.

Even by the dim light of the lamp, he could see a sort of sadness in her blue eyes. "Good evening, Lord Downton."

Although they were alone, she hadn't used his first name. He supposed he'd never hear her say it again now. "Are you having a nice evening?"

She shook her head, looking up at him. "Not particularly."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. And he _was_ sorry. Especially because he suspected he knew why.

"I had thought…" she trailed off, her eyes moving down to her own hands now. "I had hoped that perhaps you would ask me to dance again. I – I left the waltzes open for you." Her voice trembled.

This confession made him feel even worse than he had before. "I do apologize, Miss Levinson, but my dance card is full for the rest of the night." He hadn't meant it to sound as insensitive as it came out.

Miss Levinson stood and fixed him with a wry smile. "Well. I suppose I was found lacking after all. Goodnight, my lord," she said, sweeping past him and back toward the house.

Robert bowed his head. Her voice had been soft, sad and her eyes full of pain. He wanted to kick himself for not simply explaining the situation to her. It might have hurt her less.

He didn't want to go back inside. He didn't want to see her hurt expression again. He didn't want to dance with those bland ladies. So he sat on the bench Miss Levinson vacated and stared straight ahead, hating the gilded cage he lived in, hating his parents for making it worse, hating Rosamund for – well, he didn't actually hate Rosamund.

That is, he didn't hate her until she came tearing down the path, calling his name in a near shriek. He'd been outside a long time, longer than he'd thought. "Robert!" she scolded when she found him, putting her hands on her hips in annoyance. "Where have you been? You've been unbelievably and unforgiveably discourteous."

He glanced up at her shrugging. "I haven't been anywhere, Rosamund. I've been sitting here since the last dance."

"Which was three dances ago. Which means you've missed two. What on earth is the matter with you?"

"I ran into Miss Levinson." He was too tired and disheartened to be anything but frank with Rosamund. She might be the only one who would understand, anyway.

Rosamund sighed noisily. Robert braced himself to be admonished again. Instead, she surprised him by sitting next to him. "I'm sorry, Robert. Did you tell her what Mama and Papa decided?"

Robert shook his head, still angry with himself for that. He allowed himself a slight prevarication to hide his embarrassment. "No. She'd left before I got that far."

"Oh dear." She patted his arm consolingly. "Please come back inside and try to forget about it."

He knew the futility of what she asked. He also knew the futility of arguing with Rosamund when she'd set her mind on a course of action. He'd still end up back inside, working through his dance card. At least this way he could avoid having Rosamund aggravated with him into tomorrow afternoon.

"Rosamund?" Robert said softly as he led his sister back along the path.

"Yes, Robert?"

"I like her." His voice was even softer when he admitted this.

"I know, brother. I overheard your 'discussion' with Mama and Papa a few days ago, remember?" Rosamund sounded sympathetic.

"I wish there were a way…." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind, Rosamund." He extracted his dance card from his pocket. "Where are we?"

For the remainder of the dances before the supper was to be served – easily six or seven of them – Robert didn't see Miss Levinson in the room. Sir Alistair wandered around, his expression bewildered. Robert presumed that she had left.

This thought gave him a mix of emotions, but, mostly – he felt guilty.

So, it was with a great deal of relief that he observed her sit down to supper with everyone else. He ushered Miss Winters to her seat – Rosamund having told him she would be his supper companion – and waited for all the ladies to be seated before sitting with the rest of the gentlemen.

Miss Levinson sent a radiant smile his way when she caught his eye. And the butterflies in his stomach made him lose what little appetite he'd had. He smiled in return, an involuntary reaction. Then he looked down at his plate, flustered and feeling quite warm all of a sudden.

Robert wondered what could have possibly happened in the past hour or so to make her smile at him thus. There was no mistaking how sad and hurt she'd been by their exchange in the garden. He kept sneaking glances at her, wondering if he'd imagined her smile. But every time he met her eyes, she would smile at him again in that same dazzling way.

He couldn't account for it. That is, until he'd shared yet another smile with Miss Levinson near the end of supper and subsequently turned his head toward Rosamund. She smirked at Miss Levinson, and then at him. Robert's brow grew thunderous, and he shook his head at her. What had she done?

After supper, Robert drew Rosamund into one of the abandoned hallways while the musicians warmed up for the next round of dancing. "Rosamund, for God's sake, I know you meddled somehow, so tell me what in the bloody hell you did?" He shook her by the arm – not too roughly, but enough to make his point.

"Robert, you're being silly. Let go of me, or I won't tell you anything." She set her jaw in a very familiar sign of stubbornness.

He let her go. "Please, Rosamund. Tell me what you did." He struggled to make his voice calmer.

"That's much better." Rosamund crossed her arms. "I found Miss Levinson when I went into the ladies' dressing room earlier. She was very upset."

Robert could feel the color drain from his face. "She – she wasn't… was she?"

"If you're asking if she was crying, then, no. She wasn't. At least not when I found her about half an hour before dinner. She had her handkerchief out, though, and it's possible she was crying before I got there."

Looking down, Robert blinked at the carpet. He felt miserable for his actions even possibly making her cry.

"I told her who I was, Robert, and I also told her what you hadn't gotten a chance to – that our parents had flatly refused to let you court her." Rosamund stated the bare facts, which he very much appreciated. "And that you hadn't confided in me, but that I knew you very well, and I was sure that you had behaved in the way you have tonight because you didn't want to give her a false impression. That is right, isn't it, brother?"

Robert lifted his head and nodded, relief beginning to spread through him.

"She's quite a charming creature, isn't she, Robert? She and I had a rather long discussion, and I have to say that I'd prefer to have her for a sister-in-law than any of my 'friends' out there. I honestly don't think she'd have any trouble winning over Papa." She began examining her nails, smirking now. "Especially when he finds out how much she's set to inherit."

"You – you asked her that?" Robert gaped at her, disbelieving that even Rosamund would be so bold.

Shrugging, Rosamund continued to study her nails. "She didn't seem hesitant to disclose the information, Robert. She's obviously smitten with you. Although, I'm not sure why." She lifted her eyes to his and grinned.

"Do you…." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and then opening them again to focus on her. "Do you think the amount is enough to convince Papa?"

Rosamund put her hands down and patted him on the arm. "Oh, my dear brother, far and away more than he could ever have hoped for. At least twice what any of those vapid friends of mine could bring to the marriage."

Bowing his head, he said, very softly, "And do you think she wouldn't mind a fortune-hunter?"

Her compassionate sigh took him by surprise. "Robert, don't you think she and her mother both know that if she marries someone titled, she'd most likely be buying it? No, my dearest friend, let me assure you that she knew none of that before she fell for you. And she doesn't begrudge you that now." Then she did something she rarely ever did – even as blunt as she was, she didn't usually indulge in overt affection – and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.

For a few moments, Robert could do nothing but stare at her, his head spinning from what she'd told him and what she'd done – both just now and in the dressing room with Miss Levinson. Finally, he sputtered out, "Did you tell her what I told you? That I like her?"

"Oh, Robert, she's an intelligent young woman. I think she can discern that for herself without my having to tell her. You, on the other hand…." She chuckled, patting his arm again.

He drew his brows together. "What about me?"

Rosamund let out a loud laugh and twitched his dance card from his pocket again. "I think Jane Noorington is going to have someone tell her that she has a rather large red spot forming on her face, and that will free all your waltzes for the rest of the night. Would you do your sister a favor, Robert, and find someone to fill the spaces?"

Robert caught his breath sharply. "Rosamund, do you think she'll dance with me?"

"Of course. I mean, honestly, she has developed quite the infatuation with you – which, by the way, I find inexplicable, but if you like her…." She laughed with great mirth and crossed Miss Noorington's name off his card, slipping it back into his pocket. "Something must have happened at that last ball, Robert. I mean, really, the name she had picked out for you…. And what in heaven's name was wrong with you? Not telling her your name until the evening was half over?"

He stared at her with disbelief again. "You – she – you know what name she put for me?"

Rosamund swept her eyes over him, then rolled them. "I just can't believe a woman of her obvious intelligence would put such a thing."

Robert held his breath expectantly.

"Alright, alright. She told me she wrote 'Prince Charming.' She laughed when I told her she obviously meant someone else." His sister turned serious. "Robert, I swear, if you don't do what you can to snatch her up before someone else does – I may never forgive you."

"Honestly, sister dear, I really do think I want to marry her. I've never been this sure about anything." Robert looked her in the eye.

Rosamund took his arm, starting back toward the ballroom. "I see why you like her, Robert," she said, her voice full of sincerity now. "She's very sweet – but she's no fool either, even if she's American. Really, Robert, she's lovely, and I approve."

"It means a lot to me, Rosamund, really, to hear you say that." Robert had them pause before entering the ballroom and placed a kiss to his sister's cheek, as she'd done with him earlier. "It's nice that _someone_ in the family seems to understand."

"And Papa will too, Robert. We'll bring Mama around. You'll see."

They'd arrived at the ballroom. Robert's eyes automatically sought Miss Levinson. Finding her sitting at a table across the room, he patted Rosamund's hand absentmindedly. "Yes, yes. Er, I'll see you later, Rosamund." He released her arm and made his way over to Miss Levinson.

Looking at Sir Alistair – who continued to hover – askance, Robert cleared his throat and spoke to her. "Miss Levinson, might I have a word with you? Please?"

Her face brightened considerably at this, and she rose from her seat at her table. "Of course, Lord Downton. I'd be delighted."

Miss Levinson followed him into the gardens once more. Robert stopped them as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone else. "Miss Levinson, I must apologize to you for my words earlier. I never meant to cause you any sort of grief or pain. But I believe you know my situation –"

She nodded. "I do. Your sister told me. I hope that's alright."

Robert smiled in reassurance. "Yes. Rosamund tries to do what's best for me. We've always been very close growing up – although most people wouldn't know that from how we bicker…." He laughed here.

Her face reflected understanding. "Yes, I know what you mean. My brother Harold and I are much the same…." She paused, scrutinizing him now. "Parents can be very difficult to please."

Heaving a deep involuntary sigh, he said, "Especially mine."

"Robert," she said softly, putting a tentative hand on his arm. "I'd like to try. I know I'm not what they would expect, but I would like to have my chance."

Her use of his first name didn't escape him. "I hope I – well, Rosamund and I – can convince them. I would like them to give you a chance, too, Miss Levinson."

"Please," she said. "Might you call me 'Cora' when we're alone? Robert?"

It seemed only fair, really, for him to use her first name if she was using his. "Cora," he exhaled, "I appear to have some spaces on my dance card – the rest of my waltzes for the evening. Now I'm well aware that I'm no Prince Charming –" He could not deny how her blush at this pleased him. "But I'd be gratified if you would consider me worthy to be your partner for them."

"Robert," she said, her voice nearly a whisper. "I've already marked you on my dance card."

He took her hand, not realizing that he did so. "You – you have?"

"Yes," she said. "I can't imagine waltzing with anyone else any more."

Letting out a deep breath, Robert responded, "I hope you never will again."


	3. I wasn't mistaken in you

Robert watched as his father's eyes widened. "She has _what_?"

Rosamund wiped the corners of her mouth daintily before dropping her serviette next to her breakfast plate. "You heard what I said, Papa."

"That – that's an incredible amount. That would save Downton – and more than ensure its future." Patrick blinked.

"And make up for her being American?" Robert ventured, picking up his tea cup.

Patrick turned to his son. "It certainly goes a long way toward that. What is she like, Robert?"

Rosamund interrupted, answering for her brother, who she clearly did not trust to give an answer without stammering. Robert wasn't so sure he could either, so he let her speak. "Miss Levinson is witty and engaging, Papa. She has very pretty manners, and she's well-read. She is confident, and she knows how to hold her own, from what I've seen." Here she paused before adding, "And she's stunningly beautiful."

"Well, I'm still not sure what your mother will say. I'm inclined to give my blessing – after I've met her and her mother of course, and looked into the business aspects." As his father said this, Robert felt himself begin grinning. There was hope if they could get Papa to agree. "I don't look forward to trying to persuade your mother, though, son. She's adamant about your marrying an Englishwoman, and I'm not sure the amount of money will factor into it for her the same way it does me. If I can save Downton and ensure its future by allowing you to marry an American, then it is my duty as care-taker of the estate to do just that."

Robert smiled widely at his father and Rosamund in turn.

"In the meantime, Robert, make sure no one else turns her head. If Miss Levinson is everything your sister says, then I'm certain she has scores of suitors lined up to try for her." Patrick picked up his newspaper.

Chuckling, Rosamund rose from the table. "Oh, I don't think we should worry about that, Papa. I have no idea how he's done it, but Miss Levinson only has eyes for Robert."

Robert colored. He cleared his throat as he watched Rosamund leave the dining room. Then Robert stood as well. "Thank you, Papa."

Patrick had already disappeared behind the paper. "It's what's best for Downton," he grunted in response.

"Yes, but," Robert said, "it might turn out to be what's best for me too." He exited the room before his father could reply, if he was going to.

As he ascended the stairs to his bedroom to attend to some correspondence, Robert's face fell a little. They still had to convince Mama. She would not be so easily persuaded – money or not.

* * *

Luncheon was a nearly silent affair. It was obvious to Robert that his parents had been quarreling – and not their normal, interminable bickering. His father shot dangerous glances at his mother all through the meal, and his mother glowered at her food. Neither looked at their children. Robert exchanged concerned glances with his sister. What could this mean for his hopes of courting Miss Levinson?

After the strained luncheon, Robert found himself in need of a walk. He decided to go back to Hyde Park, hoping that there would be an open bench facing the Serpentine again.

Wandering through the park, greeting friends and acquaintances – warmly, if somewhat distractedly – Robert wondered if he might see Miss Levinson. Promenading around the park in the afternoons was a popular pastime for young people during the Season. He felt it not beyond the realm of possibility for her to be there. However, he thought it too much to hope for that he might actually see her.

And then, as he approached the Serpentine – there she was. _Cora_, a voice whispered inside his head, and he smiled.

She sat upon one of the benches with an older woman. The woman faced out toward the river, nodding, so Robert could see her in profile. Miss Levinson had her body turned toward the woman – thus, toward Robert – and appeared to be telling her a story, her entire countenance animated.

So engrossed was she in her story, that Robert's approach went unnoticed until he was almost upon them, and the older woman turned her head to him. Her features struck him as rather horse-like, and her silvery hair refused to be completely tamed, as evidenced by the wisps that escaped from her snood. Despite this, his cursory survey of this woman disclosed to him that her walking dress was fashionable, although modestly adorned, her face appeared kind, and her eyes were a most unimaginable shade of bright green.

But he spared hardly more than a glance for the older woman before his eyes moved to Miss Levinson – Cora (as he was taking to calling her in his thoughts). Her face registered surprise and delight, and a rosy blush accompanied her wide smile. "Lord Downton, what a pleasure to see you." Her eyes twinkled.

"Good afternoon, Miss Levinson and –" Robert paused, nodding at the other woman.

Cora laughed lightly. "It seems we have difficulties when it comes to remembering introductions, don't we, my lord?" When she stood, the older woman stood as well, a small smile gracing her mouth. "Lord Downton, this is my companion, Miss MacIntyre."

Robert made a slight bow. "Good afternoon, Miss MacIntyre."

"It's delightful to meet you, Lord Downton." She, too, had an accent, but not an American one. Her words tripped out in a rich Scottish brogue.

"Miss Levinson, I hope it's not too forward of me to ask you to take a turn with me around the park." Robert said the words before he even thought about them.

But watching her face light up made him happy he'd said them. "No, no, it's not. I'd like that very much." She exchanged a particular glance with her companion, who inclined her head. "Miss MacIntyre is going to follow behind us a little way, if you don't mind, my lord."

Robert couldn't be sure if Cora thought he'd be upset that the companion would be coming with them – or if she believed it would scandalize him not to have Miss MacIntyre walk with them. He simply grinned and held out his arm. "I don't mind at all." He didn't want others to think the woman he intended to court so brazen as to walk off alone with a gentleman; but neither did he want the companion stifling their conversation. After two evenings in Cora's company, he'd decided he enjoyed speaking freely with her. The only other person with whom he ever spoke so was Rosamund. Except he'd never noticed before that it might be nice to speak with someone else this way. But Cora made him see it. Thus, this compromise concerning her companion suited him very well.

And it suited him even better, given that he did wish to speak to Cora freely, when he saw that Miss MacIntyre, although keeping them within her vision, didn't follow too closely, but just out of earshot. Nevertheless, he kept his voice low.

"I didn't realize you had a companion," he said.

"Well, Mother engaged one for me when we got here. She doesn't like going to the balls and other events, and it's not proper, as you know, for a young lady to be alone. She makes my brother Harold go with me when we're at home, but, as he's not here, she decided to find me a companion." She tugged a bit at the long sleeve of her walking dress.

Robert drew his brows together in confusion. Now that he thought about it, he didn't remember anyone accompanying Cora at the balls. "But, she doesn't go to the balls with you?"

Cora looked up from her sleeve at him, shocked. "Of course she does! It's her job!" She colored, and her eyes sparked. "How would it look for me to go to these things unattended? I already have enough strikes against me in being an American. And, despite what many of your countrymen think, I _am_ a lady."

Blinking a few times, as he'd never seen her angry before, he hastened to say, "Pardon me for even insinuating such a thing. Please, I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that – I've never seen Miss MacIntyre. I presumed that if she were with you, I'd have met her already."

Her chest heaving a bit as she took a deep breath, Cora shook her head a little. "No, I apologize for my outburst. I have already had someone criticize me this morning about something I thought trifling, and I admit to being a bit sensitive." Her flush spread, but now Robert recognized it as embarrassment. He opened his mouth to ask about that morning. She raised her hand to cut him off. "Please, Robert." She lowered her eyes and rested her hand on his arm once more. That and the sound of his name falling from her lips roused the butterflies in his stomach. "I would really rather not speak about it."

Robert tightened his arm around hers gently. "If that is your wish, Cora."

"Thank you," she said, tilting her head to smile at him again. "The reason you haven't seen Miss MacIntyre is that I instructed her to keep a bit of distance. It's somewhat uncomfortable having a companion there, watching your every move. Well, she still watches me, and at times she'll scold me at the end of the night for some of my behavior, but she's not in the way." Cora lowered her voice even more to make sure her companion wouldn't hear.

"Do you not like Miss MacIntyre?" He asked, keeping his voice at the same volume as hers.

Cora chuckled. "No, I like her just fine. I enjoy her company immensely in settings like this. It's only that it's strange having someone with you, at balls and such, who won't be dancing and that most people treat as though she were invisible. It makes me sorry for her. So she finds a quiet corner, and she makes sure no one is too forward with me – and that I'm not making too many mistakes – and she reads while I dance."

Robert stared at her in some astonishment. "She reads? Cora, you're making me feel sorry for the woman as well."

She shrugged. "She loves to read. And she'd much prefer to sit on her own and observe than to have to socialize. She's rather a shy person, I've gathered. Our arrangement seems to suit her. Except when I go out into the garden. She's not allowed to follow me there, and she gets quite upset when I'm gone longer than a quarter of an hour."

Clearing his throat, Robert shifted in his jacket uncomfortably. "But – in the garden is where you most need a chaperone," he said hesitantly, remembering how alone they'd been when in the gardens themselves, knowing how many shadowy recesses there were. He could feel himself blush.

"Robert," she said, halting a moment and looking at him with solemn eyes. "Do you think I've ever been alone in the garden with anyone but you?"

He swallowed hard at this, searching her eyes and seeing the truth in them – that she hadn't. "You were alone there last night," he pointed out. "Anyone might have accosted you." His mind went to the young man who tended to be her perpetual shadow when Robert wasn't around.

"I don't usually stay more than ten minutes in the garden if I'm alone. And if someone to whom I don't wish to speak approaches me, I simply make my excuses and leave. At times it's useful to be an American, since most people already expect me to be rude," she explained, a wry smile on her face. "At least I don't disappoint them if I feel I need to leave abruptly."

They had begun walking again. Robert, unsure what to say to this, remained silent.

Cora took a deep breath. "And I went into the garden with you because, as I told you, I felt comfortable with you. My father taught me how to judge character from a very early age. True, I am mistaken at times, but I had a strong belief that I wasn't mistaken in you. Besides, I imagined that anyone who stuttered so in my presence I could trust to behave himself. Even on darkened and somewhat secluded paths."

Robert turned to look at her. Her eyes had filled with mirth, and her lips twitched. "You're teasing me, Miss Levinson," he said, torn between amusement and embarrassment.

"Yes, I am, _Lord Downton_," she replied, in a playful tone, pressing his arm. "Miss MacIntyre would have come looking for me if we'd been much longer that first night, I assure you. She was no end upset with me and followed me into the dressing room after I'd gone inside and had my dance. Then I told her who you were." Cora chortled. "She was relieved. Apparently, you're known for your respectful conduct toward women," she informed him.

This was news to Robert. "I am?"

She nodded. "You are. Although, I'd already arrived at that conclusion without being told." She beamed at him, making him smile in return.

"Cora Levinson, you are unlike any young woman I've ever met," Robert announced matter-of-factly.

Cora laughed. "I do hope that's a good thing."

He leaned closer to her, whispering, "It's a very good thing indeed."

Robert barely had time to enjoy her blush and her lowered lashes before they came upon a group of Rosamund's friends and their suitors. Cora had met most of them before, but Robert introduced her to them anyway, including Miss MacIntyre in the introductions once she'd caught up with them.

As they all stood and chatted for a while, Robert became keenly aware of what Cora had meant about how his peers treated her. The women of the group directed icy stares, insults, and snide remarks at her, and their "manners" only very thinly cloaked these. The men tended to ogle her in a way they would consider most discourteous if anyone had done the same to their sisters or women they courted. Otherwise, they were far more polite than the women, but they also asked her impertinent questions designed to goad her into acting vulgarly.

Robert was appalled. He wondered if they were the same with all the American women in London for the Season (for there were a number of them besides Cora Levinson), or if they reserved this type of conduct for her alone. If he'd acted upon his first instinct, he would have drawn Cora away and told the rest of them to go to the devil. But while he listened, he realized that Cora didn't appear uncomfortable or nervous. She laughed with them and smiled. While remaining refined and elegant – even sweet and accommodating – she managed to turn any insults or spiteful comments on their heads, often sending them back to the originator, cloaked as a compliment, and even having the group agreeing with her.

He had to admit to being terribly impressed with how she handled herself, using irony, wit, and sarcasm to outsmart them, leaving them uncertain whether she'd meant to slight them or if she'd made a comment in all innocence. At times, though, they understood exactly what she was doing. But she did it with such subtlety and calm that they couldn't seem to fault her. Additionally, he apprehended that they were embarrassed to admit that she'd managed to take their own rudeness and use it against them. Because to the few in the group who were genuinely kind to her she rewarded sincere kindness and pleasantness in return. They could not accuse her of being impolite to anyone who had not first been impolite to her. Even Rosamund would have been awestruck at her wit.

After a while most of the women in the group grew sour toward Cora, throwing increasingly hostile and – yes, Robert couldn't be mistaken – jealous glances at her. But the men appeared to treat the whole thing as a game. The more she deflected their questions and remarks, the more they threw at her. Robert understood now why, of the guests at the balls, those surrounding Cora were mainly young men. Besides being beautiful, she entertained them.

Finally, Robert decided that enough was enough. He could feel Cora begin to tire of it all and, not caring one whit if he were the one being rude, excused the three of them from the group. Taking his arm again, Cora waited until they were out of view before gazing over at him in gratitude and he felt her trembling. He tightened his arm in concern and sympathy.

Once Miss MacIntyre had fallen behind them, Cora spoke. "Thank you for pulling me away, Robert. And I do hope you weren't put off by how I reacted back there. I decided it was the easiest way of coping with how they speak to me."

Robert turned his head to her. "No, I wasn't. In fact, I confess that it impressed me. You can hold your own. If you end up staying in England, you'll need ways to defend yourself. And I don't think any one could deny that it shows a certain spirit." He smiled at her.

She lowered her eyes. "Yes, but it does grow tiresome." And, although she'd ceased her trembling, she sounded tired.

"I should imagine it does." Robert shook his head. "I still don't understand how Rosamund can take being friends with most of those women. I already thought them insipid and dull, but now I see how cruel they can be too. And I honestly don't see how you could have told me that nearly everyone had been polite to you. Perhaps _they _thought they were being polite, but they most certainly were not. I think I'll be avoiding them even more in the future. I'm not sure how much more I can take of their vacuousness without having an outburst that would mortify my family."

Cora chuckled a little. "I did hear you had a bit of a temper."

He looked down at his feet, at her swaying navy blue skirts. "It's one of the things I like least about myself."

"Well, we all have things we don't like about ourselves. But I have to say that, from how you acted toward those ladies, I would never have guessed you thought them insipid or dull. You were a perfect gentleman – and where most men might have sneered at them, you didn't. Even though, I admit, I could tell you were seething about how they treated me."

Robert raised his head to see her blushing. "How could you tell that?"

Cora grinned, "You kept touching my elbow. As if protecting me somehow."

His eyebrows flew up. "I did? I – I wasn't aware of it." He could feel himself going red. "I do apologize, I –"

"Please, don't apologize for that, Robert. It was the slightest of touches, and you can't know how it shored me up."

Now Robert grew flushed for a different reason, and he thought he understood why those young women had gotten jealous. He cleared his throat and smiled at her. "Well, I'm happy to have been of assistance, Cora."

* * *

Over the next two weeks, Robert went out of his way to see Cora, despite his mother's continuing ban against courting her. He couldn't help it. She made him laugh, enjoy himself – something none of the others did.

Patrick did his best to sway his wife, but every morning when Robert sat down to breakfast, his papa would shake his head. She wouldn't budge.

Violet, on the other hand, had taken to scolding Robert because she kept hearing that he "wasted" – in her words – his attention on Cora. Robert merely listened to her admonishments, then asked if he could be excused. Most of these days he left to meet Cora in Hyde Park, beginning not to care what his mother thought.

The more Robert got to know Cora, the more certain he became that she would be the right partner for him, to one day help him run Downton. Because, that's what marriage was, wasn't it? A partnership?

And he truly enjoyed being in her presence.

He enjoyed being in her presence so much that he barely blinked an eye when, near the end of another ball, she steered them into a particularly shadowy nook of the garden. The two lanterns closest to a rose-covered trellis had already gone out, and this created a private alcove. Cora had them sit. He wondered why she would have them sit here, and regretted that he could barely see her face. He thought about asking her if they could sit elsewhere, but then he felt her take his hand, pressing it.

"Robert?" she asked in a timid voice.

"Yes, Cora?"

He heard her take a deep breath. "What's it like to be kissed?"

For a moment Robert gaped at her, aware that she stared at him intently. "Haven't – haven't you ever been kissed?" he asked skeptically. He knew she was a year older than he was, and certainly someone would have kissed her by now, as beautiful and charming as she was. Not that he would like to hear that she had, of course.

Robert could see her slight shake of the head in the dim light. She chuckled gently. "A few bold young men have tried, but I wouldn't let them."

"In America?" he queried, holding his breath.

"Most of them," she answered quietly, honestly, pressing his hand.

"Oh." He wondered if she'd been in the garden with anyone else since she'd told him she hadn't. But it was a fleeting thought as he remembered that nearly all their time at balls, when they weren't dancing with other partners, they spent together.

"Robert, my mother makes me take tea at other gentlemen's houses since I can't take tea at yours. What else can I do? It's only happened once, and I did rebuff him. Since then, Miss MacIntyre goes with me if a young man and I take a walk outside." Her voice pleaded with him to understand.

In spite of the fact that he knew what she said was true, he grew jealous. He thought he could guess which "gentleman" attempted to kiss her too. He'd seen little of Sir Alistair in the past two weeks, and he could barely even remember what he looked like anymore. But he believed he would be right in thinking the man hadn't given up on Cora.

Endeavoring to calm himself, and grateful that she couldn't see his reddened face in the semi-darkness, he said, "I know, Cora. Please don't worry about it." He raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it in an effort to assuage her fears that he might be upset.

"I won't," she replied, rubbing his hand. "But…." She trailed off, as if she were unsure about something.

"But what? What's the matter?" Robert began to get nervous.

"I still don't know what it's like to be kissed," she stated simply.

Robert felt the heat rise in his face again, but this time in a blush. "Well, um, it's not easily explained. Done properly, though, it feels quite nice." He winced at his own words.

"Robert?" her quiet voice came. "Do you know how to kiss properly?"

He wondered if her face had colored as much as he imagined it had – or at least as much as his had. She kept wringing his hand, he believed with nerves. "I – well – I don't know. I suppose I do…." He coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. He'd kissed very few women, but he couldn't be sure if his enjoyment of the kisses were due to his skill (which was hampered by inexperience) or to theirs (although the farmers' daughters who'd stolen kisses from him couldn't be any more experienced than he – or at least he would hope). And, in a way, he didn't like admitting to Cora that he'd kissed other women.

"Would you show me?"

Her blatant question startled him more than her other queries and left him somewhat speechless.

Cora went on, "Only, I don't know if I'll stay here or go home – the way things are with your mother – and, oh, I do so want to know what it would be like to kiss you."

The earnestness in her voice tugged at him in an inexplicable way. Then she put her other hand on his, her breathing uneven, and he knew she waited for an answer. He imagined the way her blue eyes must be fixed on the shadow of his face and her lips might be parted in anticipation.

It made him want to kiss her.

"Cora," he whispered, bringing his hand up to rest upon her cheek. Robert bent his head toward her and touched his lips to hers, kissing her lightly at first. He led by example and patiently waited for her to catch on to how she should move her lips against his, in the meantime relishing how soft they were. Her motions still shy, Cora let out a faint sigh from the back of her throat as Robert began to tease her lips gently with his. He didn't deepen the kiss any further, not wanting to alarm her. After a moment, he pulled away – with some reluctance, he noted.

"Robert," she murmured, "I think you know how to kiss properly." Her voice held no trace of irony. "In fact…."

He felt her lean forward, as his hand still rested upon her cheek. Before he knew it, she'd covered his lips with hers once more, and he was powerless to resist. Rubbing a thumb over her cheek, he continued her soft kiss for a moment, then hesitantly urged her lips apart with his, deepening the kiss. He wondered if her slight gasp meant he should stop, but knew in the next second, as Cora had slid her hand over his neck and around to the hair at its nape, that she didn't want him to.

Several moments passed this way, Cora's low noises of delight encouraging him to continue. He realized he could easily have deepened the kiss further, but he thought perhaps she might need some warning first. Furthermore, he was growing very warm and felt certain stirrings that could lead to a mortifying situation for them both if he let things go on. So he gently ended the kiss, rather out of breath, but smiling.

Cora stroked his hair, and he could tell even in the dimness that she grinned. "Thank you," she whispered. "I think I understand now."

Robert kept grazing his thumb over her cheekbone and squeezed her hand. "You're a quick study, I think." He chuckled.

She bent her head, and he knew she was blushing and lowering her lashes the way he liked. "I hope we can do that again sometime."

Lifting her hand, he kissed it once more. "So do I, Miss Levinson. So do I."

He could feel her grin widen. "I should probably go, Robert. It's late."

"Tomorrow, at Hyde Park, then?"

"After tea. Yes," she said. Then she pressed another light kiss to his mouth before rising. "Goodnight, Robert."

He stood up beside her and brushed his lips over her cheek. "Goodnight, Cora." Robert watched her saunter up the path until she'd reached the first lit lantern, where she turned back toward him. He could see her eyes were bright and her grin perhaps the widest he'd ever seen.

Yes, done properly, kissing felt quite nice.


	4. I would still choose you

Several days passed, and Robert's thoughts kept coming back to that shadowy nook in the garden and what happened there. He'd met Cora – at the park usually – on most of these days. But of course they'd not had a chance to be completely alone together again. He most certainly looked forward to when they could. In the meantime, he enjoyed all the other things Cora's company had to offer.

On this particular morning – a day or two before the next ball – about an hour before luncheon, Robert sat in the library and stared blindly at a book. He couldn't concentrate on the words in front of him. He kept feeling Cora's lips on his own and smelling the sweet fragrance of her skin. He closed his eyes, his mouth curved in a smile.

"Robert!" His papa rushed into the library, interrupting his pleasant daydream.

Robert opened his eyes. "Papa?" His father appeared distressed, and he made for the drinks cabinet immediately upon entering the room. "Is something wrong?"

Patrick poured his drink, then his eyes darted toward the open door. "Wait," he said. He crossed over to the door, glass in hand, and closed it. Sitting across from his son, he took a long drink before fixing him with a grave expression. "I just returned from the solicitor's office."

Putting his book beside him on the settee, he prompted, "Yes?" as his father had another large gulp of Scotch.

Leaning closer to Robert, he said in a low voice, "Downton is in more trouble than we thought."

"What does that mean, sir?" Robert's eyes widened.

Patrick finished his drink in record time and stood up to pour another. He spoke to Robert while his back was still turned. "It means, Robert, that none of the English women we'd had in mind for you will suffice." He faced his son again, but remained standing by the cabinet. "Their dowries might keep Downton from ruin for a few years, but would not be enough to fully restore the estate." He sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Robert leaned back, taking this in. He blinked a few times, then ventured to ask, "And Miss Levinson?" He held his breath.

Moving his hand from his nose, Patrick rubbed his forehead and took another drink. Then he looked at Robert steadily. "She could save us, Robert."

Struggling to keep it inaudible to his father, Robert exhaled in relief. But still, he worried. "What about Mama? She's set against Miss Levinson."

His father shook his head and put down his glass. "Your mama doesn't know the extent of it. She didn't even before today." Patrick shoved his fingers into his waistcoat pocket. The expression on his face seemed a mix of understanding and hope. He approached his son, drawing something from the pocket and closing his fingers around it. "Robert," he said, his voice quiet, "I know I've seemed unfeeling in placing such a burden upon you, making you select a bride from such a small list. And I realize how difficult it's been for you to accept it. But I can tell you prefer Miss Levinson over any of the others, and that, perhaps, you're growing fond of her."

Robert simply listened, nodding. Patrick opened his hand, holding a small object out to his son. His eyes growing wide, Robert breathed, "Papa…."

"It was your great-grandmother's, and I've been saving it for you to give to your future bride." Patrick looked on as Robert carefully picked up the ring and examined it. "Robert, I can't have you let this opportunity slip by. Now you would truly be marrying her for her money. And I know you don't like that, because you're an honorable young man. I wish it didn't have to be this way. But knowing that you fancy her anyway puts my mind partly at ease." He waited for Robert to raise his head. "Court her, Robert. Never mind your Mama. That will be my worry. When you think it's time…." He inclined his head toward the ring. "You'll be ready."

Taking a deep breath, Robert stood in front of his father. "Thank you, Papa. Just… I think she's the right choice anyway. I can see her being Countess of Grantham one day." Tucking the ring carefully into his own waistcoat pocket, he bent down to collect his book.

"Then it will be for the best, son."

* * *

Patrick told Robert that he would wait until after dinner to tell his mother. Apprehensive about what she would say, Robert did not look forward to the altercation that was sure to transpire that evening, even if he would not be present for it. It gave him no pleasure to go against his mother's wishes, but he knew, deep in his gut, that this time snobbery and obstinacy had clouded her judgment.

At luncheon Rosamund asked permission to bring a friend of hers to tea. "She and are going for a walk together just before, and I thought it would be nice to bring her back here. Is it alright, Mama?"

Violet waved her hand dismissively. "I'm sure I don't mind, Rosamund. No one seems to pay any attention to what I would like anyway." She gave Robert a pointed glance, causing him to sigh and look down, thinking of the ring still nestled safely in his pocket.

Later, Patrick, Violet, and Robert assembled in the drawing room for tea, waiting for Rosamund and her guest. Robert sat nearest the open door, and, not long after Violet had grumbled about her daughter always being late to tea, he heard loud whispers coming from the hallway.

"Please, don't be silly; you'll do just fine," came his sister's voice.

"But, Lady Rosamund, what will they think? I don't even have my companion. How does this look for a first introduction? I thought we were going to Lady Margaret's!"

Robert caught his breath sharply. It sounded like – but, surely, Rosamund wouldn't….

Yet, she had. Patrick and Robert stood as Rosamund swept into the room arm in arm with her "friend." Cora appeared somewhat mortified to have found herself tricked into tea with Robert and his parents. Her eyes went straight to Robert, and she shook her head slightly, as if to tell him that it wasn't her idea.

Giving her a small smile, Robert endeavored to convey to her that it was alright.

"Allow me to introduce my new friend, Miss Cora Levinson," Rosamund sang out, grinning.

Patrick's face transformed from concern at the young woman's pallor to utter pleasure, and he stepped forward.

"Miss Levinson, this is my father, Lord Grantham." Rosamund ushered Cora farther into the room.

Taking her hand and clasping it warmly, Patrick said, "Welcome to our home, Miss Levinson. It's a delight to finally meet you. We've heard such nice things about you."

Robert watched as Cora blushed and accepted his papa's greeting with her own sweet affability. She seemed somewhat relieved, and Robert would have relaxed – were it not for his mother's expression. Violet looked daggers at Rosamund and then at Patrick.

His papa turned and indicated Robert's mother to Cora. "And may I introduce you to my wife, Lady Grantham."

"It's a pleasure, Lady Grantham," Cora said, smiling and offering her hand in greeting.

Violet fixed her with a cold stare and remained motionless. Cora's smile wavered, and she lowered her hand slowly.

"Er, let's get you settled with a nice cup of tea, shall we, Miss Levinson?" Patrick beckoned to her and indicated a place next to Rosamund, who'd already seated herself on the settee. "I think you already know our son, Lord Downton." He chuckled lightly, appearing to disregard the glare his wife gave him.

Cora blushed once more, glancing at Robert, who smiled. "Yes, Lord Downton and I are acquainted."

Rosamund's eyes moved to her mother, who should have been pouring out for the two young ladies. "Mama, we're thirsty after our walk," she said pointedly, while also affecting a light-hearted manner for the sake of their guest.

Violet turned her glower from her husband to her daughter. "I didn't think Americans drank tea," she stated, her voice icy.

Rolling her eyes, Rosamund said, "Of course they do, Mama. But if you're too _tired_ to pour two more cups of tea, I'll do it." She turned to Cora, putting a hand on her arm. Robert could see even from where he sat that Cora trembled. "Milk or lemon, dear?"

Cora looked at Rosamund gratefully. "A little lemon, please, Lady Rosamund." Her eyes went to Robert as his sister got up to get their tea. He gave her an encouraging smile. Her lips curved slightly upward in return.

"Now, Miss Levinson, tell me…." Patrick ignored his wife and engaged Cora in conversation, Rosamund and Robert joining in at times.

Robert observed Cora as she visibly relaxed. The only thing which appeared to give her pause were the intermittent loud snorts and harrumphs coming from his mother. Cora would flick her eyes briefly to Violet, then nervously resume what she'd been saying.

Finally, Violet interrupted her husband. "Levinson – isn't that a Jewish name?"

Patrick and Robert's heads snapped toward Violet, gaping at her. Rosamund coolly sipped her second cup of tea, shaking her head.

"Yes, Lady Grantham," Cora said, her voice calmer than Robert expected. His mother pursed her lips, and he knew she was about to let out a haughty "humph," but Cora went on before she could. "My father's ancestors were Jewish. But our family has been Episcopalian for generations." She turned to Patrick now, her tone as composed as if Violet weren't glowering at her through narrowed eyes. "As I understand, Episcopalians are direct descendants of Anglicans, so there are many similarities in the teachings and the service."

Tilting his head in thought, Patrick slowly nodded and smiled at her. "I do believe you are correct, Miss Levinson. They are not so dissimilar at all."

Robert watched his mother shoot a glare at her husband before she spoke once more. "Similar or not, they are not the same." Cora looked at Violet, her smile faltering at the severe expression upon her face. "And you, young lady, are not of the same stock we are, as much as you would like to make yourself out to be."

Opening his mouth in shock and indignation, Robert had no time to do anything else before Cora put her cup and saucer down on the table next to her and rose gracefully from her place on the settee. Her countenance reflected a sort of quiet serenity – but Robert could see the flash of her blue eyes as well. "Lord Grantham, Lord Downton, Lady Rosamund," she said, nodding at each of the standing gentlemen and the seated lady in turn, "it's been a pleasure to spend an afternoon with you, but I fear I've overstayed my welcome. Lady Grantham," she addressed his mother smoothly, "I may not be of the same stock, and I may be an American, but I am not a nobody from nowhere. However, my lady, if you are so offended by my mere presence, rest assured that you won't ever have to suffer it again. Good afternoon."

She swept out of the room, her lavender flounces trailing behind her, before anyone could say a word.

"Mama!" Robert hissed, "how could you?" – just as Patrick bellowed, "Violet, that was exceptionally rude, even for you!" Rosamund neatly slipped from the settee and out the door.

"I couldn't sit here and let that interloper think she had any chance with Robert." Now that Miss Levinson had departed, she poured herself another cup of tea.

Patrick shared a glance with his son. Robert nodded, knowing he had to go find Cora. Her final sentence rang in his ears, filling him with trepidation. "I do hope you haven't ruined everything, Mama," Robert said roughly and turned on his heel before she could reply.

Rosamund stood at the entrance to the foyer, her face toward the door. The butler had just shut it. Robert's hand closed around his sister's upper arm, and he knew his face was very red now. "Rosamund, what did you think you were doing, bringing her here? And you didn't even tell her, give her time to prepare? You might as well have thrown her into a lion's den!"

"Robert, you exaggerate. And you're pinching my arm." She grimaced. After he loosened his grip, she went on. "It wasn't that bad until the end."

"Not bad? I had thought we would bring Mama around, but now she never will!"

Rosamund shrugged. "I don't know. I'd think that the way Miss Levinson defended herself at the end would show Mama that she was made of sterner stuff than she appeared to be."

"Be that as it may, the way Miss Levinson left things does _not_ bode well, Rosamund. And I have you to thank for it," he blustered.

"Well, you can probably still catch her. I tried to stop her, but she muttered something about going to the park, needing to think," Rosamund pulled her arm out of Robert's slackened grasp.

"Hyde Park?" he asked.

She shrugged again. "I would imagine so. It wouldn't hurt to try there."

Robert gave her another irritated glance and stepped into the foyer to put on his hat.

"I – Robert, I am sorry, if things don't turn out. I didn't mean any harm. I thought it would help – if they met her, if Mama met her. To see what we see." Rosamund's voice carried a sort of contrition Robert had never heard before.

Tugging on his gloves, Robert spared a look for her before saying, "If I can undo this mess you've made, Rosamund, I might forgive you." With that, he hastened out the door the butler held open for him.

* * *

Robert had almost given up when he finally found Cora. His stomach gave a lurch as he saw her hands covering her eyes, and, nearing where she sat, heard her crying. She was so distraught that she didn't notice when Robert sat next to her. When he put a hand on her arm, it startled her.

Taking her hands from her eyes, she attempted to wipe her tears with the back of her glove. "It's no use, is it?" she whispered, shaking her head.

"Please, don't cry, Cora." He withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

Accepting it, she dabbed at her face. "She hates me. Your mother hates me."

"Cora, she doesn't hate you; she doesn't know you." Robert wanted so much to comfort her somehow.

Fixing him with an incredulous look, Cora asked, "Were you not in that same room with me? She doesn't _want_ to know me. I am beneath knowing, much less allowing her son to court." Fresh tears left glistening trails over her cheeks.

Robert took the handkerchief from her and gently applied it to her face. "I know you're upset. But, please, stop crying." He thought his heart might break at her distress. "Where is Miss MacIntyre?" he inquired. "She should be with you in the park. The way it would look for –"

"I don't care," she interrupted. "What does it matter anymore? There's no one I need to impress here any longer." She looked down and inhaled deeply. "Robert, my mother has been talking to me, and she thinks we should go home. So I –" she raised her eyes to his – "I think I'll go back home with Mother. And it's better that I go sooner, rather than later. I can't… it's too difficult when… I just need to go home. Today has taught me that." She bowed her head again.

As he listened to her, Robert's chest constricted. He remembered her words from their first garden stroll, how she said she wouldn't stay for just anyone, only someone for whom she could see herself giving up her entire world. Swallowing hard, he asked, "And if I asked you to stay?"

Cora shook her head. "After what I said to your mother, I can't see her giving her permission, Robert. And I won't come between you." She lifted her head to fix sad eyes on his. "I don't belong here. I don't know the first thing about what it would mean to be an earl's wife. They don't like me – none of them like me. Your mother's right, Robert. I'm not of the same stock."

"Don't say that, Cora. And there _are_ people who like you. Lord Henry and Lady Margaret, my sister – and I can tell already that my father is quite taken with you." He smiled at her. "My mother doesn't understand… well, she doesn't understand a good many things right now. And she wasn't the only one in that drawing room." Tucking his handkerchief back in his pocket, as she'd stopped crying, he touched her cheek. "Cora, don't let my mother frighten you away. Please, stay. Stay for me."

For a full moment she searched his eyes, holding his with hers. Her entire visage reflected the conflict he knew must be going on inside her. Then he moved his fingers across her cheek. Cora leaned her head into his hand and closed her eyes with a soft sigh. And he knew in that moment that if he let her go, he'd never be able to forgive himself.

Robert plucked his great-grandmother's ring out of his waistcoat pocket and held it enclosed in his hand. "Cora," he whispered. She opened her eyes and focused them upon his. "I don't care what my mother thinks. You are the only woman I can see marrying, with whom I can see sharing the life that has already been plotted out for me. I can't give you the world, and I can't promise you much excitement, but I want to give you whatever I can so that you may have a good and happy life." Then he shrugged and sighed. "You know I'm a fortune-hunter – as much as I hate that word, it's the appropriate one. I will, unfortunately, be marrying you for your money. But, oh, sweet Cora, there are so many other reasons." He opened his hand. "If you can see giving up your life in America – to share mine here – I would like very much for you to stay."

Cora had listened raptly while he said these words, and now her eyes rested on the ring. She covered her mouth and blinked at it, then raised her eyes to his face. He gazed at her with both expectation and fear – an uncontrollable fear that reached cold tentacles through his veins, the fear that she would reject his offer and leave him forever.

She took a deep breath and stared at the ring again. She appeared shocked and still torn. Robert removed his hand from her cheek and, securing the ring between his thumb and forefinger, he used his other fingers to slip the glove off his right hand. Her eyes followed his movements as he put the ring in his bare palm. "This ring was my great-grandmother's. Papa gave it to me to give to you. To _you_, Cora. He approves of us. And I don't like disappointing my mama, but I won't let her come between us. If I had all the money in the world, I would still choose you."

Robert had to close his fist quickly over the ring to keep from dropping it, so impulsive was Cora's lunge forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Gasping in surprise, he froze for a few seconds before sliding his arms around her and resting his cheek on her hair.

"Cora?" he asked softly. "Is that a 'yes'?"

His eyes widened when she pulled her head away, only to press her lips to his, completely unmindful of the people strolling between their seat and the Boy and Dolphin fountain in front of them. Within a few seconds, her timid kisses persuaded him to be unmindful too. So he closed his eyes and let her show him her answer to his question. He would admit that this was one reason he wanted her by his side – she helped him forget the confines of his title and his duties, even if only for a little while.

Cora drew back from him after only moment or two, her face radiant. She glanced at passersby, some of whom had the impertinence to stare at them, and blushed furiously, hastily unwrapping her arms from around his neck, and pulling herself out of his embrace. But still she smiled. "I'm sorry. I got carried away," she said sheepishly.

"Never mind that," he insisted with a grin. He indicated her hand. "May I?"

She nodded. "Yes." She added, "Yes to that, and yes to you." She continued to blush.

Smiling happily, Robert took her left hand, and gently slid the glove off, finger by finger. Placing this in his lap, he slipped the ring over her delicate knuckles. Then he clasped her hand, raised it to brush his lips against the back of it, and, for the first time, held her bare hand in his. He ran his thumb over it, loving the feel of her soft skin.

She beamed at him, and he would have loved to kiss her again, but felt that too many people had already witnessed their impropriety already. That would have to wait until later. For the moment, he was content to sit and talk with her and hold her hand in his – the hand he would get to hold the rest of his life.

* * *

Rosamund jumped up from her seat in the foyer when Robert entered the house about an hour later, humming and grinning from ear to ear.

"Have you been sitting there the whole time?" Robert handed his gloves and hat to the butler and took his sister's arm.

"Yes! I was worried." She walked with him down the hallway. "I had nearly decided to go looking for you, brother."

Robert chuckled. "Ah, no need for that, Rosamund." He looked over at her and kissed her cheek impetuously. "What would you say to our going out to a restaurant tonight to celebrate?"

Rosamund raised her eyebrows. "Celebrate?" She gave him a hopeful glance. "Does this mean that –?"

Stopping them, Robert turned to her, still smiling. "It means that you're forgiven and that, if you say you will come with me to dinner, I'll tell you everything then."

His sister grinned. "Oh, Robert. I'm so glad. I did feel most dreadful about –"

He interrupted her again with a shake of his head. "It's done, and all is well. Now. Do you know where Mama and Papa are?"

"Papa went into the library an age ago, and Mama hasn't come out of the drawing room."

Kissing her soundly on the cheek once more, he nodded toward the stairs. "Alright. I realize the dressing gong hasn't sounded yet, but go on upstairs and get ready. I know how much longer you take when we're going out." He winked at her and watched her ascend.

After a quick word with the butler to let him know that he and his sister would be gone for dinner, Robert entered the library. His father was ensconced in his chair, staring at a book and sipping Scotch. He didn't read, so much as seethe in silence.

"Papa?" Robert hesitantly stepped farther into the room.

Patrick's head jerked up. "Son?"

"I'd have something to say to you and Mama. Will you come with me into the drawing room? Please, sir?"

"If that's what you wish, son, but I'm not really speaking to your mother right now." He put his book down and got up, moving to the drinks cabinet. "And if you'll wait just a moment whilst I…."

"Of course, Papa." Robert waited while his father freshened his drink, then walked with him to the drawing room.

Violet sat in her same chair, working on her embroidery. She looked up from it when they came in, pursed her lips together, then resumed her stitching, apparently ready to ignore them.

"Mama, I need to tell you and Papa something. Might you please listen?"

Robert waited until his father had seated himself as far as possible from Violet, and his mother stared at him in an exaggerated manner, indicating her attention to him. He remained standing to address them both.

He took a deep breath, then said very clearly, "I've asked Miss Levinson to marry me."

The change this news wrought over Patrick's face was incredible. But as he stood to wring his son's hand, Violet's voice pierced the air, halting him.

"How dare you, Robert!"

Robert wheeled around to face his mother. Her entire countenance had reddened, and her eyes flashed. Indignance exuded from her, and she shook with fury. Robert didn't think he'd ever seen her quite this cross before.

"Violet," Patrick ventured, in a placating voice, "you don't understand."

"What is there to understand, Patrick? Our son has taken leave of his senses, and he's wounded me very deeply by going against my wishes." Her shrillness hurt Robert's ears. "Especially after how that young woman spoke to me this afternoon."

"Mama." Try as he might, Robert couldn't keep the exasperation from his voice. "She spoke that way because you attacked her. What else was she supposed to do? Let you?" Before his mother could answer, he went on. "Besides, I would say that indicates a backbone that the Viscountess of Downton would need." He knew he risked setting her off completely, but he found he didn't care anymore.

Violet gaped at Robert. He rarely ever talked to her in such a way.

Patrick attempted to explain it again. "He _has_ to marry her, Violet. There's no other option."

She turned her flushed face to her husband. "What do you mean?"

Sharing a glance with his son, he endeavored to enlighten her. "Downton is in worse trouble than I ever imagined. I spoke with our solicitor today, and none of the other candidates have near enough to save the estate. Miss Levinson is the _only_ one who can."

Violet narrowed her eyes and shook her head vehemently. "No. No. I won't have it, Patrick. Robert will simply have to look for another bride next Season among the English ladies coming out then."

"We can't wait that long, Violet," he replied, his voice rising slightly with his irritation.

"Of course we can, Patrick. How much difference could a year make?" She sounded incredulous.

"Violet, it makes all the difference. And what if no other suitable young lady appears next Season? We'll have lost our best opportunity." Robert could hear his father's normally even temper cracking.

"No, I won't accept that. Miss Levinson doesn't belong with us." She gripped the arms of her chair, glaring at her husband.

Patrick threw up his hands. "I give up. Your stubbornness has reached a new height, Violet. I'll be 'dining' in the library tonight." He went over and picked up his Scotch glass, taking a swig, then came back to Robert. "She said yes?"

Robert nodded.

"Good. Er, congratulations, son." Wringing his hand, Patrick sent his wife one last scathing glance before exiting the drawing room.

"Well, I never!" Violet exclaimed.

"Mama," Robert said softly, "it will be easier if you simply start seeing things as they are. I have to marry Miss Levinson. Downton needs the money she would bring to the marriage." He knew she wouldn't care about any of his other reasons, not as set against Cora as she was. He thought that perhaps she did want him to be happy – in her own way – but only on her terms.

Violet shook her head again. "No. There has to be another way. If you marry her, she'll bring shame and ridicule upon the Crawley name, and I won't have that, Robert. I won't."

Robert sighed heavily. "Mama, I've asked her to marry me, and she said yes. I honestly don't see how she would sully us, as she's a fine young woman – which you would see if you deigned to give her half a chance." He sat on the chair next to hers and looked her in the eye. "Papa gave us his consent and his blessing. I had hoped that I would have your blessing as well, but, since I don't think I'll get it, I'll settle for your acceptance. Because, whether you wish it or not, I _will_ marry Miss Levinson. Her money is necessary for the estate to continue."

He got up, leaving her staring at him incredulously. At the doorway, he turned. "I hope you will enjoy dinner on your own. I've already informed the butler that Rosamund and I are going out. Goodnight, Mama."

Violet's knuckles had turned white from her grip on the arms of her chair. "You're set on ruining us – our family, Downton – aren't you?"

Her accusation struck a blow straight to his heart. Robert closed his eyes briefly, weighing his words. He knew he could easily lash out at her, but it would solve nothing; it would merely make her defensive. He kept his voice even, as he looked at her solemnly and said, "No. Because I don't think you fully understand, Mama. If I don't marry Miss Levinson, there will be nothing else to ruin. Our family name will be all we have left. And if Downton crumbles, the Crawley name won't be worth very much anyway, will it? If you care at all about our family, you'll try to accept this." He shook his head. "I'm not sure if I can put it any clearer than that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised Rosamund I would tell her about my proposal over dinner. At least _she_ sees what I see in Miss Levinson."

And with a last "goodnight," Robert left, not waiting for an answer.


End file.
